And that’s when I already know I’m making a mistake.
Because why am I tellinghimthis?
Him, of all people.
The epicenter of my headache, my frustration, my insomnia, my complete inability to focus on anything that isn’t the memory of the way he—
Stop.
STOP.
I clear my throat again.
I remind myself he’s a client.
That I found the perfect candidate forhimtoo.
That he’s here to confirm whether he wants to go on a date, not to melt my brain.
“…and why?” Cohen asks, with that calm voice he uses when he’s trying to slip between my thoughts.
I narrow my eyes at him. “Because the next step in my plan is to make those two pick each other for Secret Santa.”
Cohen goes quiet.
Just stares.
His brain is clearly buffering.
“I’m matching them behind their backs,” I add.
He laughs—low and quiet.
And my heart decides it would like to die today.
“Devious.”
I tighten my grip on the pen. “I’m doing it for their own good.”
I say it too loud, too fast.
I can practically see his brain taking mental notes:Sloane Heart, certified romantic psychopath.
“Rae and Grant are perfect together and they need to be together, but there’s no way I’ll get Rae and Grant, and then Lina and Sebastian, to draw the right names with just Ivy and Cam helping.”
I realize I’m rambling when he squints and says, confused,
“You lost me. I don’t know who any of these people are.”
I sigh.
Pull my shoulders back.
“Ivy’s my best friend. Cam is her boyfriend—and I matched them, absolute triumph.
Rae is another best friend, and Ivy’s mom, and she’s perfect for Grant, but she’s terrified of commitment and he’s too stubborn.
And then there’s Lina, another best friend, and I don’t understand why she insists on hating Sebastian, because he’s perfect for her too—”
